


when it ends, don't wanna let you know

by heartbreakordeath



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, all of my christmas fics and all of your christmas fics we post them one by one, soft like this is so goddamn soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbreakordeath/pseuds/heartbreakordeath
Summary: I'm not late it's still gift fic day!!! this isso unbelievably softand also absolutely requires an equally-fluffy sequel that will probably show up once I have more time to write it, but for now....enjoy the fluff :)title from Golden by Harry Styles, as this is for a wonderful friend who has spent many hours in my Discord DMs yelling with me about him and the bastille gang <3
Relationships: Charlie Barnes/Dan Smith
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9
Collections: Gift Fic Month!





	when it ends, don't wanna let you know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonbeanm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbeanm/gifts).



> taking a break from the dyle angst, here's some plotless dan/charlie fluff because. i mean. [you know what they're like on stage.](https://youtu.be/vox46GLGv7U). this is that fic. enjoy!

“I want to kiss that smile right off of your dumb face,” Dan says, but he doesn’t really say it. He just laughs, doubling over with the force of it, recovering just enough to see Charlie step even closer to him. He’s leaning in with a carefree, open-mouthed smile that lights up his whole face, and Dan has no idea how he still has the brain capacity to lift the microphone back up to his face and sing the next line.

_This is the rhythm of the night…_

Dan stretches out the notes, struggling to contain the laughter and emotion threatening to overtake his voice. He’s not sure how that became tradition during this tour; whether it’s because he’s trying to impress the other man, or because he never wants their little moments like this to end. He’s also not entirely sure he wants to know the answer to that.

He knows it’s all for the show, of course, as evidenced by the screams that reach his ears even through the horrid in-ears- but standing here, making a fool of himself in front of the thousands and thousands of eyes...it feels like Charlie’s only playing for him.

_This is the rhythm..._

Charlie’s energy is unmatched as he leans back onto one leg, fingers still nimbly flying over the frets on his guitar as he challenges Dan with his eyes. Dan falls for it- for _him_ \- every time he does it, and this night is no exception. 

He’s not even sure what Charlie’s _doing_ , now; some sort of lunge, maybe? Whatever it is, it’s got Dan thinking all _sorts_ of thoughts he absolutely Cannot Have in front of thousands of people who know him far too well for his own good.

Not _those_ kinds of thoughts, mind you. The kind of thoughts that make him want to stop the show mid-line, mid-chord, mid-everything, and just _look at him._ It’s easy enough to imagine it happening- Charlie’s frown of surprise, the way his eyes would widen almost comically and he’d laugh a bit, probably, and not even miss a beat of his own guitar playing. 

Nothing would throw him off, not even that. The power could go out in the whole arena, and he’d keep his cool while Dan acted like a chicken with its head cut off. And yet all it took for Dan’s three brain cells to go _completely_ on overdrive was the _littlest_ things. He couldn’t figure it out.

_Of..._

By the time his useless brain reboots, he’s nearly out of breath, just content to watch Charlie do his thing for as long as he can. He laughs and shakes his head; and in a quick burst of dizzyingly impulsive adrenaline, reaches forward to sink his hand into the curls on Charlie’s head when they come into arm’s reach.

As always, he wonders if he’s crossed a line- but his friend just smiles even wider and (unless it’s his constantly-overactive imagination, which is entirely possible) leans into Dan’s touch for just a moment. Dan ignores the screams from the crowd, ignores the nagging thought that this tiny half-planned decision might be plastered all over social media as soon as the show’s over, and smiles so hard he’s certain the whole audience can hear it in his voice.

_The night…_

He pulls his hand away, feeling cold as he wipes the sweat off on his shirt. Charlie straightens, finishes off the chord with a dramatic flourish, and winks at Dan before he retreats back to his home behind the keyboard. Dan pauses, wondering if he’d imagined it, but a quick glance at Kyle’s raised eyebrows and knowing smirk are enough to prove he hadn’t.

He takes a deep breath, the crowd roaring with the ending of the song, and feels himself come back to Earth slightly. Maybe the oxygen-deprivation from singing all those long notes really _is_ to blame for...for whatever it is that happens during those minutes with Charlie.

It’s just... _different_ on stage, that’s all. They don’t have to talk about the things that happen out there, when they’re putting on a show for everyone and nothing else matters. Not their thoughts, or feelings, or what they’re gonna do first when they get off stage- nothing. 

Just Dan, and Charlie, and Kyle and Will and Woody and the crew and the crowd. It still did scare some of them, some days, but at the same time it was their new normal. It’s one thing to see the numbers- the ticket sales, Instagram followers, Twitter replies- and yet it still blows Dan’s mind when every night, without fail, there’s another whole new group of people who actually come to see them play. 

It helps, then, that he can come out on stage and sing to his friends instead. It takes the edge off of the instinctual panic that sets in, lets him ground himself in something familiar for a while. It helps that Charlie’s more than willing to be just as energetic and wild as him when they’re performing, to maybe make him look just a _bit_ less like an idiot. 

But it’s a double-edged sword, now, because Charlie’s started doing _this_ , and Dan’s not sure how much more of it his poor brain can take. He finds himself watching, waiting as the end of the song approaches, heart beating faster in anticipation as he prepares himself for what might happen this time.

Sometimes, Charlie stays where he is— either he can’t get to the front of the stage fast enough, or he doesn’t feel up for it, and Dan desperately wishes he could tell the difference. Other times, Dan turns around after he hits the drum one last time and (just like the drum) _boom_ , there he is in front of him, like he couldn’t possibly wait another second. 

He’s not sure what it is, this strangely intimate dance they do every night of this tour. It was supposed to be _fun_ , a nice lighthearted break in the set before the last songs of the evening, and he can’t deny that it is. But there’s always been a careful line drawn in the sand between them, whether onstage or on the bus or in the green room of an arena. It’s not a boundary they’ve been conscious of for a while, after five years of sharing each other’s company; and perhaps that could explain why Dan had barely noticed the invisible wind slowly but surely eroding the divide between them.

Standing there as the lights dim and the instruments fade out, it hits him like a wooden drumstick to the face, and he finds his breath missing all over again.

(Unfortunately, it’s not a feeling that’s _completely_ unfamiliar to him. That shit _hurt_.)

His mind scrambles for the automatic script he’d normally have ready before the next song intro, and comes up with nothing. Dan takes a breath, another, another- _fuck me, it’s Million Pieces_ \- and somehow manages to stammer his way through the long-winded “audience participation” segment before the lights flare up again.

He gets back into it by the chorus, watching everybody in the first three rows jump up and down, phones held up to capture shaky evidence of the night. He’s _there_ , the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, but his mind might as well be on an entirely different planet. 

Dan’s so far away he nearly misses the way Charlie pulls Kyle aside after the show, and doesn’t comprehend why until they’re out of the arena and headed up the elevators to the casino hotel for the night. 

Kyle shakes his head when Dan follows him down the hall, gesturing to Charlie with a suggestive look that makes Dan want to sink right into the maroon carpet and never be perceived by mortal eyes again.

Dan turns, and Charlie’s waiting for him by the door to his hotel room-- _their_ hotel room, now, apparently, since Kyle’s just disappeared into his room with Will right behind him.

“Oh,” he says, hoping his face doesn’t betray too much of what he’s thinking.

“Oh.” Charlie repeats it like an affirmation, digging in his pocket for the room key.

Dan smiles as he watches his friend fumble it for a moment, the awkward movements stirring up the whole pot of gooey emotions in his chest. Charlie finally swipes the key and shoves the door open, pausing nervously at the threshold.

“I hope I’m not…?”

“You’re not,” Dan confirms gently, and the brilliant smile he gets in return is more than enough to send him hurtling over that damn line once and for all.


End file.
